


L'épée de d’Artagnan (The Sword of d’Artagnan)

by DebbieF



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Fantasy elements, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-02
Updated: 2017-03-14
Packaged: 2018-09-27 20:03:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10044242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DebbieF/pseuds/DebbieF
Summary: This story has a few elements of Disney’s The Sword in the Stone. Which has always been one of my fav movies since I was a kid as I love everything King Arthur as well as The Three Musketeers.Right now it's a stand alone. I'm not sure if I'm going to do anything further with it or not.See notes below.++++





	1. Chapter 1

Once upon a time… There was a Gascon child who delighted in sitting upon his père’s knee to be regaled with tales of derring-do. While his maman would complain in the background that her husband should stop filling Charle’s head with fanciful stories.

For the garcon’s père was a former Musketeer, King Henry’s personal bodyguard no less. Having been elevated to that status upon saving His Majesty from an assassination attempt.

Years later, protecting King Henry from another attempt on the monarch's life, Alexandre d'Artagnan suffered a personal injury to his sword arm. It resulted with him eventually having to resign his commission and retire to his beloved hills of Lupiac. Not that it was the end of his story. Oh no, for fortune smiled upon Alexandre when he happened upon a beautiful girl whom he had collided with, quite accidentally mind you, because he wasn’t looking where he was going. From that day forward he and Francoise were _inseparable_ _(no pun intended)_. To say they lived happily ever after… er, well, that depends on how one looked upon it. For when their only child had been born, life forever changed.

So it was now that Alexandre would always find his arms filled with his energetic garcon who would leap into his arms begging for another one of his stories from days gone by. Holding Charles high in the air he would then set the lad down upon his sturdy lap and begin weaving tales on his time in the king’s service. If there had been an added embellishment or two in the telling it didn’t harm anyone, least of all the king.

Never leaving it at just one story, Charles always begged for more. While lost in the world of honor and pageantry his père had spun for him, his gaze would always rest upon his pere's sword. It hung over the mantle above their fireplace. Knowing that when he came of age that prized sword would eventually pass down to him, Charles felt humbled.

Like in other fairy tales, there is always more to the story and this one is no different. For Alexandre was a man who held a secret. One that only a few men knew about. And so Charles was unaware that the sword he coveted was not his père’s original weapon. _That was a tale still yet to be told..._

++++

_The Present_

_Royal Palace – Throne room_

Swords crossed as the sounds of steel on steel rang out, like the bells from Notre-Dame de Paris, to bounce off the walls. Eighteen year old d’Artagnan was in a vigorous dance with his assailant’s blade. Launching a counterstrike, right after his last parry, he withdrew back without disengaging and executed his reposte. Attacking directly off of the other man’s sword before his opponent had a chance to recover and defend himself. Thinking he held the upper hand, d’Artagnan was in for a rude awakening.

It wasn’t until Athos shouted out a warning to d’Artagnan that he realized another attack was coming at him from behind. But the warning came too late. Twisting around to face yet another assailant his blade was struck with such force that it flew out of his hand.

The inseparables, otherwise engaged, were fighting off the rest of the malcontents who had somehow managed to infiltrate the Louvre. No doubt they would all hear about this later from their outraged king. But for the moment they were all too busy to lend aid to their youngest. They had to trust in the young Gascon’s ability to look after himself. Even though he was only a recruit for now, he showed promise to be much more.

Backing away from the rapier pointing at his chest d’Artagnan realized that he was neatly boxed into a corner, finding his back against a solid wall. Disarmed and out of options he feared that this was a situation he may not come out of alive. For a brief moment his thoughts dwelled upon the grief that would fill his parent's hearts if this turned out to be the last day he drew breath.

But it was then he caught the gleam of metal from the corner of his eye. Noting something most odd, d’Artagnan saw that it was a sword… _embedded almost up to the hilt into the wall_. If he hadn’t seen it with his own eyes he wouldn't have believed it. Even with all the duty he's pulled at the palace lately, d'Artagnan had never noticed it before. Feeling though it had been put there as someone’s idea of an outlandish joke he didn’t waste time contemplating on it being there, knowing that every second was precious to him. Instinctively reaching out toward the gleaming hilt of the sword his grip tightened on it, pulling the blade easily from the wall. Whirling around he then lashed out with the rapier and cut down his stunned assailant.

During the heat of battle, something important had gone unnoticed by d'Artagnan. When he had touched the weapon, the jeweled encrusted hilt of the blade had briefly glowed. It would seem that the sword had found its true owner at last and acknowledged it. If an inanimate object could have feelings then this sword did while it vibrated gently in the boy's hands, showing its happiness in the only way it knew.

Breathing hard d'Artagnan felt the weight of the sword in his possession and, there were no other words to describe it, it was like he knew the blade was a part of him. Taking a moment to study it, d'Artagnan noted that the pommel was inlaid with gilt. It was the fine gold leaf that had caught his eye, helping him spot the rapier in the first place. He owed his life to this sword.

Feeling someone breathing heavily against the back of his neck d'Artagnan turned his head to the side, catching Porthos peering over his shoulder. The large Musketeer ruffled his hair and laughed when d'Artagnan pulled a face.

"Where'd ya find that sword, whelp?" Scratching at his head, Porthos thought that blade looked mighty familiar.

"You won't believe me," d'Artagnan grinned. Looking around the room he could see that the Musketeers had prevailed yet another day. No thanks to the Red Guards who looked like nothing more than bumbling idiots tripping over their own two feet. The cardinal needed to get better trained men. Upon noting Aramis winking over at him from the far corner of the room, d'Artagnan grew anxious at having not cast his eyes upon his mentor yet.

Finally spotting Athos in deep discussion with the captain, and a wildly gesculating King Louis, d'Artagnan felt much easier. When Athos saluted him with his rapier, he returned the gesture in kind. It was then that d'Artagnan noted Athos' facial expression change to one of astonishment. Observing the older man steadily make his way toward him, d'Artagnan began to be concerned. Stopping about a foot away from him, Athos tapped the tip of his blade against the rapier d'Artagnan held.

"That sword," Athos voice trailed away. His eyes searched out an obscure section of the throne room and back again to rest on the rapier.

Hearing Athos gasp, d'Artagnan began to think he had done something wrong by taking the sword. Urgently he said, "I can put it back." Going to do just that Athos' hand on his arm stayed his movement.

At first Porthos didn't understand why Athos was acting the way he was. Then he remembered that he had just been thinking that d'Artagnan's blade had a familiar look about it. Hitting him like a ton of bricks, Porthos' mouth fell open in shock. So it was _that_ sword the whelp had and somehow d'Artagnan managed to pull it free of its prison. Now the kid's remark about not believing where he found it made sense to him.

Curious as to what his brothers were speaking upon with the lad, Aramis sauntered over to the small group. Placing a hand upon Porthos and Athos shoulders his smile grew wider. "Excellent work today. I think we put the Red Guards in a bad light. Perhaps we won't pull parade duty on the morrow." When none of his friends reacted to his words Aramis' gaze settled on the sword in the pup's hand. Rolling his mustache between his fingers he noted the jeweled pommel and the gilt inlay.

"Mmmmm, d'Artagnan," he cocked his head to the side, Aramis' dark eyes still lingering on the blade, "tis a fine weapon." He ran a finger lightly down one side of the sword. "By any chance did you happen to pull it out of that wall over yonder?" Pointing to where the rapier had been held captive for so long, Aramis hummed to himself.

"I lost my own sword during the fight and was cornered," d'Artagnan explained. Not understanding why everyone's attention was on this rapier. "It was in the wall of all places and I urgently needed a weapon. So I pulled it out."

"You _simply_ pulled it out," Aramis repeated, for his benefit and anyone else who may have thought they misheard.

"Oui." Feeling the undercurrents of something more going on here, d'Artagnan dropped his gaze from them to look upon the blade he held.

"Kid, no one's ever gottin' the better of that sword." Puffing out his broad chest, Porthos pointed to himself. "I should know cause I tried and failed so many times I lost count."

"As many others had as well." Aramis' tone was almost reverent.

"That section of wall had been its home for nearly twenty years," Athos offered quietly. "King Louis and Treville have kept the story of that sword to themselves for whatever reason."

"None of us know how it came to be there." Aramis knew that something significant had just occurred. Ever since d'Artagnan had come to them from Gascony, the child had shaken things up at the Garrison. What this would mean for the boy and for them, Aramis wasn't sure.

"I should put it back." After hearing what the inseparables had told him, d'Artagnan was afraid that King Louis would be furious with him for removing it. It was while he contemplated upon what to do that His Majesty and Captain Treville approached him.

Crossing his arms, King Louis traded looks with his captain. "About time wouldn't you say, my old fox?"

"Indeed it has been, sire." Gazing fondly at Alexandre's son, Treville was pleased that the sword had at long last found its true owner.

Not knowing what else to do d'Artagnan presented the young monarch with the blade, surprised when the king held up a hand and shook his head.

"Non, d'Artagnan," King Louis kindly smiled upon the youngster. "Tis yours to keep."

Feeling he had stepped into a very weird dream, d'Artagnan looked to the captain for answers. Treville had long been a close friend of his family, especially his papa as they had served together long ago. "I don't understand, sir."

"That sword once belonged to your père." Knowing that wasn't going to be enough information for the lad, Treville nodded at Louis to continue with the story.

"It was gifted to Alexandre d'Artagnan by my father for saving his life," King Louis explained. "How the sword came to be embedded in the wall happened during another assassination attempt on King Henry." He too remembered the story passed down to him. It had become something of a fascination for him. "A malcontent was on the verge of slitting the king's throat when your père managed to run him through with that very same sword."

"Alexandre used so much force behind it that the blade went through the king's assailant and straight into the wall." Shaking his head at the memory, Treville noted pure astonishment written on the lad's face.

“What was truly amazing about the entire incident was the fact that the sword did not break into pieces,” King Louis added, helping the story along. “From what I understand tis how your père came to injure his arm.”

"What happened to the man who attacked King Henry?" First opportunity d'Artagnan had he was going to write his papa about all of this. He couldn’t believe a tale such as this had not been told to him while he was growing up.

"We had to cut his bloody body away from the blade." Treville’s lips puckered as if he had bitten into a bitter lemon. "A bit of nasty business there but there was no other way to get that sword out of the wall." With a gleam of positive delight in his eyes, he glanced at d’Artagnan. “Bien, until today.”

With a most serious expression crossing his face, King Louis looked at the Gascon lad as if sizing him up. “My father used to tell me that the sword was imbued with magical properties. Though, even as a young child myself, I never noted any instances of it being unusual."

“May I be so bold as to ask who gave this sword to King Henry in the first place?” Figuring he had the right to ask since it was he who pulled the blade out, d’Artagnan was all the more curious as to the silent exchange between His Majesty and Captain Treville.

"It was when King Henry was around thirty years of age," Treville said. "He saved a sorciere by the name of Donatienne from the witch trials."

"There had been a terrible sickness plaguing Paris and she worked side-by-side with other physicians to help save many lives." Smiling, King Louis glanced at the captain. "My father and others knew she didn't practice dark magics but used her knowledge for the good of the people. Which is why he stepped in to save her life."

"In thanks she gave King Henry that sword you're now holding, d'Artagnan." Observing how well the sword seemed to fit the young Gascon, Treville couldn't wait to write to Alexandre. Perhaps his and d'Artagnan's letters would end up arriving together. For he knew the lad was going to write his old friend on why he kept the sword a secret from the boy. "Oddly enough Donatienne's name meant _given by God_ ," his blue eyes twinkled. "Perhaps there's some truth to the rumors after all."

“Rumors?” One of d’Artagnan’s eyebrows arched upward.

"That it's not magical powers imbued within the blade... but _divine_ ones," Treville finished.

"Tis also said that the one who is entitled to it would be able to do wonderful feats," eagerly supplied King Louis.

Having listened to His Majesty and Treville tell the sword's history to their pup, Athos got a good look at the writing on either side of the blade. It was then that he began to chuckle. When all eyes turned on him, Athos pointed to the sword. "It would seem that it was _fated_ for d'Artagnan to have it." His finger glided over the writing. On one side it said _pour le juste_ and on the other was written _coeur pur_.

"Mon Dieu!" Taking the sword from d'Artagnan, King Louis held the blade up to the light so he could properly read the inscription. "Having been stuck in that manner the words had not been visible before today." Handing the sword back to his youngest recruit, King Louis shook his head in wonder. "Take good care of it and it will take good care of you I'm sure."

Bowing, d'Artagnan then lifted his head up to encounter an eager light shining in the king's eyes.

"I expect to hear many a tale from you, d'Artagnan." King Louis slapped the boy on the back. Then he headed off in another direction, trying to gain the attention of a page who had walked into the throne room.

"Stories?" d'Artagnan's gaze followed the monarch and then bounced between each of the inseparables plus Captain Treville. " _Stories?_ " he repeated.

"Yeah, whelp." Laughing, Porthos threw an arm around the kid. "King's gonna expect great things from ya now."

Covering his mouth with a hand, Athos tried not to laugh at the horrified expression crossing the child's face.

"Before you scare the poor boy half to death," Aramis glared at his larger brother, "d'Artagnan, I feel a blade such as this deserves a fitting name."

"You want me to _name_ it?" At this moment d'Artagnan's mind had gone numb with all the information he had just learned. Now Aramis wanted him to give the sword a name. In less time than d'Artagnan thought, he came up with the perfect one. Holding the gleaming sword high in the air, he dubbed it. " _Destinée!_."

++++

_Notes:_

_Notre-Dame de Paris_ \- Notre-Dame Cathedral  
_Sorciere_ \- sorceress  
_Pour le juste_ \- for the righteous  
_Coeur pur_ \- pure of heart  
_Destinée_ \- destiny

FireGascon mentioned that since épée is a feminine word in French and the feminine version of Destiny is Destinée, that may suit the sword's name better. So I'm going with that suggestion. Many thanks for that FierGascon!


	2. Finale

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I know I told everyone that I wasn't sure if there would be more to this or not. But Mysteryfan17 said I should have another chapter because the Red Guards are going to blab to the cardinal about what our Gascon did. Well Richelieu would have found out anyway from either the king or Treville but I thought I'd follow-up with another chapter pertaining to all of that.
> 
> Also, and I posted this at the bottom of chapter 1, FireGascon mentioned that since épée is a feminine French word and the feminine version of Destiny is Destinée, that may suit the sword's name better. So I'm taking that suggestion and running with it. Many thanks for that FierGascon!
> 
> See notes at bottom.
> 
> ++++

_Later in the same day – Palais-Cardinal, Richelieu’s office_

“You say the boy pulled the sword out?” Questioning one of his Red Guards, Richelieu fingered his goatee.

“It came out easy as a knife slicing through butter, Your Eminence,” Broichet remarked. “At least that’s what Macere told me. He was closer than I to the Gascon when it happened.

“Have d’Artagnan sent to me directly,” Richelieu ordered. There was nothing further to gain by talking to the guard and his time was valuable, not wanting to dither about.

Bowing, Broichet’s curious eyes briefly rested on the cardinal. “As you wish, My Lord.”

++++

_Le Rusé Renard Tavern_

Celebrating the young Gascon, and his newly acquired weapon, the inseparables stood up to toast the lad. That was until a Red Guard strode inside. Putting down their tankards in unison they all reached for their blades.

Warily eyeing the trio of soldiers Armistead took a few cautious steps toward the boy, who was the only one currently still seated. ‘Monsieur d’Artagnan.” Armistead tried for formality, not wanting any of the inseparables to skewer him on the spot for being disrespectful. Their reputation was something of a legend, even to the Red Guards. “Cardinal Richelieu requires your presence immediately.”

Instantly getting to his feet, d’Artagnan quickly glanced at his friends. ‘I swear I haven’t had enough time as yet to find further trouble today.”

“We know that, whelp,” Porthos growled, staring daggers at the messenger.

“I’ll come along.” Gathering his cloak and chapeau, d’Artagnan followed the guard out the door.

“I don’t like this,” Aramis muttered, itching to go with the boy.

“Neither do I.” Watching his protégé leave, Athos rubbed the back of his neck feeling the skin there prickling as it was wont to do when things usually went sideways on them. Perhaps he should have accompanied the pup. Ah, bien, d’Artagnan would soon inform them on why the cardinal was so eager to speak with him when next they meet.

++++

_Palais-Cardinal, Richelieu's office again_

Relaxing against his high-backed chair Richelieu’s shrewd gaze studied the Gascon youth, while he drummed his long tapered fingers on top of his desk. “I heard that my guards and Musketeers protected the king well today.”

“Bien, the Musketeers did anyway.” Murmuring the words quietly under his breath, d’Artagnan caught the cardinal looking at him curiously. Dieu! He hoped His Eminence hadn’t heard his words.

“Mmmmm,” Richelieu hummed, tilting his head to the side. “Did you say something?”

“I simply agreed with you, My Lord.” Dipping his head, d’Artagnan thought upon Aramis and the benefit of the man’s knowledge he had shared with him on occasion. Learning how to skillfully draw attention away from one’s self always came in handy. Like in this instance when d’Artagnan’s unruly tongue ran away with him.

“I also heard that congratulations are in due order to yourself.” Settling deeper into the chair Richelieu thought upon how very young the lad appeared. It hadn’t escaped his notice too on how that sparkling jewel, within the hilt of the rapier, seemed almost alive.

He could have sworn that when the young man had entered his office that the gem was pulsating with light. The fine gilt inlaid in the pommel flashed at Richelieu mockingly, or so it appeared. Now weren’t his thoughts becoming quite fanciful? Attributing almost human traits to a sword of all things. To say these many years past Richelieu had coveted that blade, bien it wouldn’t be an exaggeration. The next best thing to owning it was to have the sword's owner serving him.

So he found himself saying, “I could use a man like you in my Red Guard.” Ah, Richelieu chuckled low, noting stunned surprise register in the recruit’s face. “I hold out my hand to you, d’Artagnan,” which he did. The gem on his ring finger caught what light was in the room. “I do not do so lightly.” Smirking, Richelieu added, “Actually I rarely do this at all.”

Amazed that d'Artagnan was having this conversation in the first place, he was at a loss for words. His mind going completely blank, all he could do was stare dumbly at the cardinal's hand.

Dropping his hand, Richelieu rubbed at his goatee again. "Clearly this was the last thing you expected upon my summoning you here." Taking stock of the boy once more, he brought something up he thought d'Artagnan would be interested in hearing. "Your père was once offered a position into the Red Guards as well," his lips twisted. "I believe he turned the opportunity down."

Standing up Richelieu walked around his desk and drew closer to d'Artagnan. "So did Treville at one time too." He made a great show of being disappointed. "It must be a Gascon trait." Frowning at the still silent youngster, he stabbed a finger in the lad's chest. "Make sure _you_ make the right choice that they failed to do." He held out his hand again.

Kissing the cardinal's ring, d'Artagnan then slowly backed away. Bowing he turned smartly on his heels and departed. When the huge double doors clicked shut behind him, d'Artagnan realized that he hadn't given Cardinal Richelieu a definite answer one way or the other.

++++

_Athos' apartments_

Pacing the floor, Athos kept his eyes locked on the door. Waiting to pounce on his protégé the moment d'Artagnan stepped through it. When finally the child did, he literally dragged the young Gascon inside into the warmth of the room. Folding his arms Athos jerked his head toward an empty chair Aramis had pulled out for the boy. "What did _he_ want with you?"

Accepting a glass of wine from Porthos, d'Artagnan drank the entire contents down in one gulp.

Eyebrows rising high at the pup’s action, the inseparable’s concern deepened.

"Cardinal Richelieu offered me a position in his Red Guards." Reaching for the bottle of wine to pour himself another drink, a heavy hand on his arm prevented him from doing so. Scowling up at Porthos, d’Artagnan tried to shake it off but Porthos’ grip was unrelenting.

"You've not much of a head for drink, d'Artagnan." Picking up the bottle Athos handed it over to Porthos. "To see you attempting to wash the memory of your visit away disturbs me greatly."

"Merde!" Slumping further into his chair, d'Artagnan stared up into his mentor's unwavering gaze. "I'm not sure if His Eminence threatened me or not." Three loud voices cried out in alarm, making d'Artagnan visibly wince. So slowly he went into his explanation of how the visit with Richelieu had gone.

"Sounds like our good cardinal doesn't want to give you a choice on the matter, mon frere." Aramis was not happy. Not at all. Hoping one day to join the church, he could not in all honesty hold up the cardinal as a prime example of the way a clergyman should act. It had never pleased him the manner in which Richelieu performed his duty in the name of France. How many innocent people died and were thrown into the Seine never to be seen again, because of that wicked man's greed? Crossing himself, Aramis prayed le bon Dieu would forgive him his dark thoughts.

"’Ow long did 'e give ya ta make up your mind, whelp?"

"Porthos,” staring at the larger man helplessly, d’Artagnan held out his hands, “he did not say nor did I dare ask."

"We'll chew on this another time." Slapping d'Artagnan's chapeau onto the child's head, Athos grabbed him by the arm again effectively pulling the boy out of the chair. "For now you are expected for palace duty."

"Now?” A tad bewildered, d’Artagnan threw his mentor a questioning look. “But I thought that after what happened..." Not bothering to finish that sentence, he noted Aramis' dancing eyes. "What?"

Hooking his fingers inside his weapon's belt, Aramis held back from laughing at the forlorn look the pup wore. "It would seem that Louis cannot do without your services now that you have saved him."

"Mon Dieu!" Shaking his head d'Artagnan went to leave. "Tis been a long enough day," he griped.

When the door slammed shut, Porthos turned to his friends. "I feel for the kid. I do." Lifting a glass of wine to his lips, he grinned. "But better 'im than me."

++++

_Royal Palace_

Positioned as he was, between Lebeau on his left and Guillory on his right, d'Artagnan had an excellent vantage point in which to keep King Louis in his sights. His Majesty had apparently granted a late audience with some comte that was an old family friend.

The Comte de Pectu had held a long standing acquaintance with King Henry. Often-times he was a frequent visitor to Paris, paying his respects to Louis now that the old king was dead.

Noting Cardinal Richelieu standing near the young monarch's side, d'Artagnan could tell he too wasn't pleased upon being here. Most likely because of the lateness of the hour. He hoped His Eminence would not say anything untoward about it to the king's visitor. Trying to decipher the pained look on the cardinal's face, d'Artagnan stifled a laugh. To him it appeared that either Richelieu was suffering from a bad case of indigestion or worse... constipation.

Last time Cardinal Richelieu was in a snit like this, it took the combined efforts of the Musketeers and Red Guards to calm the hot tempers that ran rampant because of the cardinal's churlish words.

Something was slightly _off,_ d'Artagnan could feel it in his bones and in the air he breathed. He could literally feel the vibration of his blade still in its sheath, as if Destinée was trying to tell him something of grave import.

It was then that everything seemed to happen at once. The men who had accompanied the comte were suddenly armed to the teeth, weapons drawn against King Louis and the cardinal.

Engaging Destinée, the blade sang out when d'Artagnan sliced across the mid-section of one of the comte's men. Main gauche gripped tightly in his left hand, he lashed out at another assailant. Parrying against his attacker’s sword, d’Artagnan managed to trip the canaille up. Slashing at the man’s throat, blood spurt all over the floor. Not sparing him a glance he noted that Lebeau was cornered. Running to the Musketeer’s aid, d’Artagnan effectively cut the attacker in two where the assailant stood. Saluting his brother-in-arms d’Artagnan then looked toward where His Majesty had last been.

"Pour l'amour de Dieu!" Pulling King Louis behind his throne for protection, Richelieu tried his best to keep the young royal out of harm's way. When a sword cut all the way through the throne's upholstery to come out the other side where both of them were hiding, Richelieu began considering other options.

Upon hearing the cardinal's exclamation d'Artagnan forgot to retrieve his dagger from the man he had just killed. His only thought was to get to His Majesty. Racing across the floor d'Artagnan skidded to a halt upon noting another of the canailles making their way toward King Louis and Richelieu. Knowing he wouldn't make it in time to prevent a tragedy, and without his main gauche, d'Artagnan let go of Destinée. Watching his sword fly through the air toward its intended victim, he could have sworn the jeweled hilt glowed white hot.

Clinging to the cardinal like a scared child, King Louis heard a noise from behind him. Turning around he came face to face with a man bent on murdering him. When a sword came out of nowhere to run his attacker clear through the chest, it was then that King Louis collapsed into Richelieu's arms.

Before the young royal decided that Richelieu would hold him up, his keen eyes noted that the jewel in the blade's hilt had been glowing bright when it struck that man down but now it was not. With the sword still in the king's assailant, he reached out with a finger. Barely touching it, Richelieu felt a stinging pain. Snatching his hand back he examined the skin noting it had been slightly singed. Apparently the sword didn't like men of the cloth.

When d'Artagnan made his way to them, he realized Destinée had completed its task. Pulling the blade out of the canaille he noted His Majesty and the cardinal were both unharmed. "Dieu merci!"

"I believe a visit to the chapel is in order to do just that," Richelieu bit out through clenched teeth, feeling slightly unnerved at nearly getting cut in two.

Observing King Louis' white face, d'Artagnan hoped the royal monarch was not about to pass out. Bowing, he dipped his head. "Sire, are you well?" When His Majesty placed a hand on either side of d'Artagnan's shoulders, giving them a good squeeze, he looked at the king uncertainly.

"Oui, d'Artagnan." Collecting himself King Louis faced the cardinal. He was bursting with pride for the young Gascon and wanted it known. "Cardinal," he beamed. "This will be one of those stories I told young d'Artagnan I wanted to hear about from him," King Louis chuckled. "I just didn't think I'd become a part of them."

With a tight smile, Richelieu dipped his head toward the king. Turning a bland eye on the youngster, he lifted a brow. "I suppose this means you will remain with Treville's men, d'Artagnan," Richelieu dryly remarked.

"Oui, My Lord." Removing his sword from the dead man, d'Artagnan swiped the blood covering it on the corpse's jacket before re-sheathing it.

"Did you know that your blade is particular about whom touches it?" Holding out his burnt finger, a rueful expression crossed Richelieu's face.

Blanching, d'Artagnan's gaze bounced from his rapier to the injury Destinée dealt the cardinal. "Apologies, Your Eminence."

Waving the youngster's concern aside, Richelieu noted worry darkening the Gascon's eyes. Taking pity on the boy he said, "Do you realize you just apologized for your sword's actions as if it were a living entity?"

"What I believe," d'Artagnan's eyes lingered on his blade, "is that there is much more to Destinée than meets the eye." Then, without hesitation, he unsheathed his rapier. "Hold out your injured finger if you would, Cardinal." This would be hard to explain later but everything in d'Artagnan told him that this would work.

Finding himself automatically obeying the Gascon's command, Richelieu did as bid. When the cold tip of the blade touched his burnt skin, a feeling went through him that he couldn't describe. As d'Artagnan lifted the sword away, Richelieu's eyes widened at the sight of his unmarred digit. "Mon Dieu!"

"As I said, Your Eminence," noting the profound amazement on the cardinal's features, d'Artagnan smiled slightly, "tis more to this blade than you or I could ever fathom." Dipping his head he went off to see how the other Musketeers fared.

++++

Having been relieved of duty, d'Artagnan left the palace. On his way back to the barracks he ran right into the inseparables. He was surprised, thinking that they would have all been abed by now. Or, at least, d'Artagnan would have expected Aramis to have been abed though not in his own apartment nor would the marksman have been alone.

"Word just reached us on what had occurred." Sharp eyes skimmed over the Gascon, but Athos could find no injuries on the pup.

"You should feel proud of your protégé, Athos." Joining them, Lebeau slapped the youngster on the back.

"He saved the king's life," Guillary added with a grin. "Possibly Richelieu's as well." Tipping his chapeau at the boy, he followed behind Lebeau as they both headed toward the barracks.

"Startin' out on those stories the king wants ta 'ear, whelp?" Exchanging easy grins with the rest of his brothers, Porthos watched d'Artagnan roll his eyes at him.

"This will be one tale I won't have to tell him about," d'Artagnan huffed. When a huge yawn escaped him, he couldn't wait to crawl into bed.

Eyes crinkling at the corners, Athos gave their youngest a gentle shove in the direction of the barracks. "Get some rest, child."

"I intend to." Dragging himself off into the dark, d'Artagnan didn't care that he had three papa bears carefully watching his progress. They would learn, sooner or later, that he could well take care of himself. Yawning again, d'Artagnan realized he had forgotten to tell them about what his sword's capable of. About to fall asleep on his feet, he didn't have the energy to turn around and tell them. Feeling that his brothers could wait until the morrow to hear about it, d'Artagnan continued on his way.

"Kid's gonna do all right, yeah."

"We'll make sure of it." With a light tap to his chapeau and a twinkle in his eye, Aramis grinned.

"That is if we can keep the child from dashing off headlong into trouble," Athos drawled, earning laughter from the other two men.

"In that case," throwing his arms across each of his brother's shoulders, Aramis brought them all in close together, "we better come up with a plan."

The End

++++

_Notes:_

_Le bon Dieu_ \- The good Lord  
_Pour l'amour de Dieu_ \- For God's sake  
_Dieu merci_ \- Thank God  
_Le Rusé Renard Tavern_ – The Sly Fox Tavern


End file.
